


Feathered Delights

by LysSerris



Series: One-Shot [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bellamione Cult Ilvermorny Cup, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Fluff, One Half of a Paired One Shot, One Shot, based off a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysSerris/pseuds/LysSerris
Summary: "I will claim the winner as my own, as they will claim me. You have one year until I leave this town for good, uproot my Manor and my fortunes, never to return.Good luck."





	Feathered Delights

**Author's Note:**

> Minimal editing, more comma's than I'd like but I'm happy enough with it as it is.  
There will be a pairing to this one-shot, opposite but similar.  
Work is based on a prompt.

Everyone who was anyone knew of Bellatrix Black.

Tall and gorgeous, as if carved by the Gods themselves? Check.

Luxurious dark hair that curled in patterns and swirls only a painter could have imagined, eyes the color of volcanic glass? Check.

A Manor, Family, and a fortune worth more than anyone’s wildest dreams? Once again, check.

To admit that she was the single most eligible bachelorette of Slytherin’s Hollow was the understatement of the century. But unfortunately, at least for the ridiculous number of suitors that had the misfortune of knocking upon her door with feverish dreams of gold in their eyes, she was also one of the smartest. She would be dead before she lowered herself to the form of some Trophy for them to tout, no ticket for a lazy lout to cash in for a step up on the social ladder of their society. She would _ not _ be controlled for access to her money, nor would she be paraded about for her fine looks. Both of her younger sisters had been shipped off to lands far away in service to those requirements, and the everlasting anguish at their loss had given her a sour taste that was yet to dissipate despite the sweetness of the solitude she drank.

And so, after one day being more annoying than the last, she devised a test. The bootlickers were kicked off her porch, doors locked and windows bolted, any and all were shut away for one last time.

It was a simple, if somewhat imaginative, test. Everyone around the town knew that Bellatrix consorted with the Ravens upon her land. The dark birds flocked in the trees on either side of her Manor, would follow her into town as she walked down the streets, and brought her trinkets both rich and common whenever she stopped to pet or feed the flock. It wasn’t a very unusual sight to see her draped with the massive birds, one on each shoulder and sometimes more resting on her pale forearms. The townsfolk, most but not all, found it odd in the highest degree (for they found anything and everything even a degree off of normalcy to be odd), but they tolerated it nonetheless.

She was used to it. And now she would see whether they were paying any attention.

On a Saturday morning, much like any other, a large parchment filled with writing was nailed to the center of the Town Hall, as likely a place for congregation as any other, and within the afternoon the news had spread like wildfire from the outskirts of the lowest houses to the great Manors of Bellatrix’s neighbors.

_ ‘I, Bellatrix Black, do hereby reply _ ** _‘No’_ ** _ to all future requests for my hand in Marriage. None who come to my door will walk away with anything other than sore reminder that I am a woman not to be played up. There will however be a respite, a contest if you will, for those who wish to court me even after the vehemency of my previous denials. _

_ First; I know my closeness with the Raven’s of this town is a hot button topic, old maids gossip about it during tea, the young men laugh at my interaction with nature, your young ones look to me with awe as feathered darkness follows my very footsteps. But there are some I treasure over others, and one of these has become a treasure of mine. They are a key, if you will, that should help you with this task. _

_ Second; My door is locked, my windows bolted, I have all manner of entrance and exit to myself and ways of movement that will keep me from your eyes. I will not alight from my Manor until this game is won, until someone unblocks me from my self-made prison. _

_ Third; This contest, game, or pursuit as you will, is open and available to all, be you Man, Woman, or another of your choosing. I would so dearly hate to miss out on the escapades of those who aren’t my regular suitors, and really if the fairer sex wins and puts to rest those nasty rumors that men speak of and boast in private, all the better. _

_ Fourth; I will claim the winner as my own, as they will claim me. _

_ Fifth; You have one year until I leave this town for good, uproot my Manor and my fortunes, never to return. _

_ Good luck, _

_ Bellatrix Black, Firstborn Daughter of Cygnus and Druella, Heir presumptive to the Black Fortune.’ _

\---

Many scratched their heads in wonder at the words, each caught in their own theories as to solving the mystery, claiming the prize. It infected many a man, and quite a few ladies, with a craving for gold and an itch to solve a puzzle. They began as one to wander about the street outside her home, each in their own world and observing all of Bellatrix’s that they could see. The woman hadn’t been lying, each door and every window was bolted and locked tight, smoke still rose from her chimney’s so they knew she hadn’t disappeared but she’d forgone any form of social interaction and could not be found by knocking or letters or patient stakeouts late at night. The only entrant to the home were the flock of birds that would enter into a small window left ajar at the top of the spiraling estate; one by one they would enter at odd times of the night and day, flitting about without a single care to the Human flock below them.

Rodolphus Lestrange tried first, bless the man for his eager soul and willingness to show the others how it was done. 

“It is,” he said, “Quite simple really. We must find a key, one either large or small, and make our way into the Manor to announce ourselves. The mystery,” he leaned into the group of suitors gathered around him at the dimly lit pub, “Is in _ finding _ said key.”

And he was right, for truly she hadn’t painted this mystery as thoroughly as she could, desiring as she had been of eventual company and a worthy mind. But the trouble, as Rodolphus also correctly pointed out, was in locating where the key had been placed. 

He staked out the Manor with a single-mindedness that seemed determined before someone truly looked upon it. It was feverish and red, nasty and grasping. No; this man did not want to win the contest, solve the mystery. He wanted, coveted, _ needed _ Bellatrix. He worked as a man possessed, standing outside in rain or sun; wind whipping at his coats and water beading down his back.

But it eluded him.

Eventually he tried to knock upon her door, hoping maybe, just maybe, it had all been a jest; an overeager attempt at joviality to shake up the denizens of the town. He never received an answer, and in time another flower caught his eye, and he left for greener pastures.

Second to try was one Thomas E. B. Riddle, Heir presumptive to the Lordship of Slytherin’s Hollow and all around dandy, a mind as sharp as a knife and full to the brim with cunning and poise. He watched young Rodolphus, observed his manner and his movements, and came to the conclusion of the next portion of the mystery on his own.

_ He knew where the key was hidden. _

Now if only he could find it.

It had to be on a Raven, either looping around their neck or tied to their legs, her words had been purposeful and she’d not have mentioned the annoying birds if they hadn’t been meant to play a part. He coveted Bellatrix for her skills, for her mind, and with this little stunt he was even more impressed.

He watched the birds and their movement, from the highest and smallest window of the Manor, their large flock setting up inside the nest of brambles and branches that made of the twin oaks flanking her home, their odd but stable flights throughout the town. Thomas was not a patient man however, and soon enough gave up on waiting in favor of action.

Thomas Riddle was a learned man, a man of science and technology, a man who paid attention to the Continent and all it’s newly built delights. And so it was, one late Sunday morning where even the town’s pastor had yet to rise, that he found himself nestled in a tree above the left side of Bellatrix’s porch, his hands wrapped around a blunderbuss stuffed with netting and finely weighted stone, finger on the trigger and sweat beginning to soak through his tweed jacket.

_ There! _

The first of the birds began pouring out from the window of the Manor, one by one hopping to the sill before dropping onto the eaves and squawking their morning displeasure. He readied his finger, the muscles in his hands beginning to cramp from the prolonged position, eyes seeing nothing but black feather until-

_ BANG! _

His finger slipped, nodules of metal spun in with cloth and wire went flying from the end of his instrument, cracking through the waning twigs and splashing onto the metal and mortar of the roof. The birds scattered at once, some returning inside while others sped off in great haste towards other trees, their squawking and cawing filling the air until Tom thought his ears would burst.

And then, unluckily for him, he fell. 

The perch he’d chosen had been taken for its proximity to the home, it’s view of the window, the other branches shielding him from all view. Not, as he should have looked out for, it’s stability. And down, down, tumbling all the way, he fell. 

Bone cracked beneath him as he landed, blunderbuss smashing into a twist of metal and wood when it impacted, his leg out at an odd angle as the few passersby in the street that had become frozen in fright began to jeer and point to the mangled mess that he’d become. A raven, larger than the others and with eyes as black as night, dropped down onto his chest. Upon its neck hung a key no longer than his pinky, silver with a green gem for a hilt, taunting him at how close he’d come. He tried to move his arms, tried to grasp at the heavy bird, but his fall had reduced him to whimpers and moans.

For good measure the bird pecked him once between the eyes with her sharp beak, squawking when it was done, and then flying away.

\---

Hermione Granger found the foolishness surrounding this ‘contest’ to be a mite ridiculous. She understood it for sure, but had no interest in chasing after a goose hunt that was probably created to mask Bellatrix’s disappearance for another province. Each day someone new or old was parked in front of Black Manor, their eyes on the birds and feet tapping out impatient rhythms on the ground. They all chased, they all swore, they all continued it on and on and on.

It was all just so droll and ridiculous that Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when a suitor left the search with a dejected look upon their face and bird shit on their perfect suits. It certainly made her days more interesting.

Being the village’s only Librarian was a rewarding but thankless job, one prone to long days and lonely evenings, a fire and a good read her only company. 

She’d interacted with Bellatrix more than a few times before she shut herself away from the world, a tall and mysterious woman who’d given her slight smiles and long stretches of conversation as she perused the massive library that Hermione held Lordship over. The woman had been well learned, interested in a variety of subjects from steam and locomotion to the occult and dark theories, fiction and fantasy and biographies of Queens long past. It had been stimulating to have someone to speak with, someone to share ideas with, someone with whom she got along without the ever present words between her fingers getting in the way. 

Ronald, lastborn son of the Weasley clan, had attempted to court her the summer before, his befuddled methods slamming harshly against her rather introspective nature. He was loud and brash, always out for adventure and rule breaking, wanting to get his name and his presence known to the world. Hermione had not. She was perfectly content to learn on her own and sit beside a warm fire with a book in hand and a glass of tea upon the table; it was her sanctuary and her haven, and he had not shared those interests with her. 

As soon as Bellatrix Black had issued her challenge he’d disappeared forthwith; nary a goodbye or an explanation, just a sudden disappearance from her life. Not that she cared, he was definitely not her type.

But she did miss the interaction. Hardly anyone came to the library anymore, and now that Bellatrix was gone she’d wasted nearly seven months of silence without a single learned mind to speak with. Well, except the Raven, that was. It was a beautiful creature of pure black feathers and hauntingly deep eyes, sharp talons and a warble that sounded as music to her ears. Each day, right around her morning break, the massive bird would enter through a window she kept open on the far side of the building to let in air and release unwanted heat. The bird would fly on silent wings to sit on the counter next to her, poke and prod at her hands with beak and feet, waiting on her to begin reading for the day. It had been a natural occurrence for months now, ever since she’d first caught sight of the bird within the Library and attempted to usher it back outside to its natural habitat. 

It had been a persistent creature though, always flying just ahead of her and only calming once she’d given in and began to read a book of poetry from across the Sea. The bird had seemed intrigued; dropping onto her shoulder to look down into the collection of paper she held in her hands, beak preening and pulling on her auburn curls as she sat there in silence. 

They’d done that once or twice before she began to read aloud. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to do so, certainly she hadn’t ever done it before, but with such a beautiful guest flitting about her chosen territory, it seemed only fitting she gave it some sort of entertainment, even if it was only her voice and rather random choice of reading material. It was peaceful, lovely even, to have the ear of this proud bird amid her chosen home of parchment and bindings.

“What’s your name I wonder,” she asked the creature as she closed her book for the day, “Do you have other friends? A family? Where do you go when you’re not here?”

The bird pierced her with a gaze far more knowing than any raven should be able to lay claim to, an insight and a knowledge gleaming forth from its black orbs.

“What I wouldn’t give for you to talk, were you human and not a fowl, and then I wonder; would Ms. Black like you? She would certainly be interested I assume,” she lay a hand upon the creature’s feathered back, fingers playing between feathers and coaxing a lazy caw from its beak, “She was so very nice to have around, however long it’s been since then. I suppose she’s gone, either elsewhere or nowhere; but if she makes an appearance well… It won’t be like it was I suppose, if someone wins her Mystery.”

The bird cawed then, a long and throaty warble that left Hermione full of wonder at its intelligence. Did it understand her? Would it, given a knowledge of Human speech? 

“You are quite beautiful, you know, all darkness and sharp edges. Yes, I think it is right of me to presume that Bellatrix would adore you, add you to her flock if she could. If only…”

\---

Days turned into weeks, weeks led into months, and still no one was closer to obtaining the silvered key to Bellatrix’s heart. Soon enough there was only one day left, and each and every man in town (and quite a few of the younger ladies) were camped out outside Bellatrix’s home, each frantically scurrying around as they hopped and strutted after birds and loose feathers, each blindingly fervent in claiming the dark woman within.

Not Hermione though, she had a job to do, even if no one would enter her shop. No one, that is, besides the Raven. Hermione had determined it was a She, a rather large ornithological text had elucidated her to that fact, and then she’d spent nigh on three weeks determining a name for the beautiful creature. 

“Harmonia,” was her preferred name, though the Raven seemed to far prefer, “Eris.”

In the end the Raven won, sharp beak plucking apart her curls and throat positively singing with the warmth of her caws. It brought a smile to Hermione’s face, one that lasted until the last hour of the last day of Bellatrix’s challenge.

None had won, each turned away by time or dismay or the elements of her mystery. The woman would leave; and though Hermione was happy for her (not being tied to those pernicious suitors was arguably a great accomplishment) she couldn’t help the sadness that wormed itself into her heart at realizing the closest thing she’d had to a proper friend would be gone forever. She lamented her situation to Eris, the bird cawing soothingly and bobbing her head as she listened to Hermione’s woes, black eyes gleaming in soft light from the sconces Hermione had lit upon the walls.

Finally it was here, the final stroke of Midnight; the day anew and light lost forevermore.

Until a curious sound met Hermione’s ears. So preoccupied with staring at the clock of her Library, Hermione had completely ignored the Raven sitting upon her counter. The sound of rustling feathers and talons on wood pulled her away from her misanthropic reverie, the sound turning to a creak as if a great weight of books had been placed upon the oaken countertop. She turned, half expecting to see the bird playing with stacks of books, and felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight that awaited her.

“Hello, Pet.”

“...Ms. Black?” Hermione’s mouth was agape at the nude woman sitting on her countertop, legs crossed over one another and hands propping her up so she could lean backwards, eyes wide and dark while a hauntingly beautiful smile graced her face.

“In the flesh, or in the feather, as you will.”

Her voice was a marvel to behold, soft and lilting with all the qualities of a Raven, _ the Raven, _ that she had been until only moments ago. Hermione could do nothing against the tug within her chest that had her slowly walking forward to stand before the magnificent woman, her own mouth working but no sound coming out.

“Shh, Pet,” Bellatrix pressed a warm finger on Hermione’s lips, her body leaning forward as she spread her legs apart and pulled Hermione into her grasp, “No words, though I’ll gladly take them later, but let me talk for now.”

Hermione nodded her head, hips pressing into the edge of the countertop and palms down on the wood to either side of the woman’s hips. She could feel the heat radiating off of her, smell the sweetness of her skin and hair, feel the puff of breath against her cheeks and face as they wrapped themselves in the other’s presence.

“Those fools tried so much to find what wouldn’t be given freely, searching high and low for a treasure withheld. You though… You merely wanted companionship, and were content with easy silence. They wanted gold and riches, you simply valued conversation. I have been in here, day in and day out, watching through the windows as men and women bloated on their perceived intelligence ignored a wondrous mind within their midst. You did not search for me, you did not covet me,” Bellatrix rested a hand around a small but gleaming silver chain wrapped around her neck, hand tapping the metal once before a small and silvered key, green gems wrapping into the hilt, appeared into existence. “And I found myself in turn coveting you, our mornings of sweet scents, afternoons of your lovely voice. I gave you nothing, and you gave me what you had.”

Hermione listened with rapt attention, her eyes focused in on the woman’s face as Bellatrix pulled the gleaming key off the chain around her neck, “Many wanted this, but you, my dear,” she placed the key, warmed by contact with her skin, into the palm of Hermione’s hand, “You deserve this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


End file.
